


in praises and worships

by catslikekenma



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Childhood Memories, Heavy Angst, I will not confirm nor deny anything, M/M, Religion, Reminiscing, i give you the liberty to interpret it how you want it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catslikekenma/pseuds/catslikekenma
Summary: Kiyoomi had always thought that God despised him. He had a lot of experiences to back up his claims, but he thinks the most evident one was his neighbor, who goes by the name Miya Atsumu. It was clear, right from the very start, that he was a curse, a nuisance – Kiyoomi's punishment from God Himself.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	in praises and worships

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Wong Kar-Wai's, 'In the Mood For Love'.

_“Forgive me, father,”_

In a small town somewhere, there’s a church with colorful stained glass that adorned its walls. It holds prophecies, a story told over and over again from one generation to another, a journey in which a so-called savior is tortured and killed, but resurrects. _For our sins_ , they preached. 

_“For I have sinned,”_

Giant statues of saints who wore silk and gold-painted details looked down on its worshippers. They stood tall and motionless, staring into the white walls of a place the people have deemed holy and sacred. A red carpet laid in the middle of it all, and it led up to the altar where a giant statue of Christ was sprawled on the cross.

He died there, they said. 

_For our sins,_ they preached, _He died for our sins._

_“My last confession was...”_

A crown made of thorns on his precious head. He bled everywhere—his hands, his feet, his heart. 

For all of humanity. 

For Sakusa Kiyoomi.

His breath was quiet, and so was his voice. He swallowed thickly as he thought when, indeed, was his last confession. He couldn’t remember. He came there, hoping to find some sort of release to the heavy burden he was carrying, to find someone or something to understand because it’s heavy, so, _so_ , heavy.

His hair fell on his face, hiding the shame and pain of having to be there on his knees, on the other side of the confessional. His hands were clasped together, holding on for dear life — to be forgiven, to be cleansed, to be pure once again. 

Maybe then he’ll forget, maybe then it wouldn’t be as heavy, it wouldn’t hurt as it did right then.

_“This is my first confession.”_

— 

“I don’t see the need to let you in.”

Atsumu whines desperately, even going as far as to stomp his foot a little on their porch. Kiyoomi concluded that he doesn’t experience being told 'no' often, and the realization made him glare at the spoiled guy that stood right in front of him even more. Kiyoomi really hated that.

“Omi-omiiiiii…”

“Don’t call me that! How many times do I have to tell you!?” Kiyoomi holds up the can of air freshener at Atsumu’s face, who pouted at him and gave him his best pleading expression. Kiyoomi wanted to desperately spray the freshener right at his face, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to get in trouble. He didn’t want to go to hell, either. It hasn’t even been a full month yet Kiyoomi was already so, so tired of his new neighbor. There were other houses, why did it need to be theirs?

“If I take another bath, _then_ will you let me in?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t understand. He didn’t know why he wanted to go inside his house so badly. There’s literally nothing to see, except the creepy statues of some saints that littered their shelves and tabletops.

He takes a deep breath. Kiyoomi will never understand.

“It depends how — “

And just like that, Atsumu was gone in a split second. Kiyoomi wasn’t even done talking. He huffed as he finally closed the door, thinking he’ll be able to get some peace and quiet. He returns to wiping the coffee table just as his mother instructed him to, and not even a full ten minutes had passed by and there was already knocking once again at their door.

Kiyoomi thought of simply ignoring it, but he knows how persistent Miya Atsumu was. He won’t stop. He’ll just knock louder and faster and Kiyoomi hated that a lot. With a deep breath, he gets up to his feet to open the door. 

There, Atsumu stood with an ‘innocent’ smile on his face. Kiyoomi grimaced at the sight he saw — his hair was still a damp, with a little bit of water droplets trickling from the tips of it. His shirt was in disarray and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he wore it backwards, too.

“Can I come in now?”

Kiyoomi stares at him, both in wonder and disbelief. He judged Atsumu from his feet up to his face. He wanted to say no, to close the door in Atsumu’s face right at that moment but there was a look in Atsumu’s eyes that made him stop. Kiyoomi knows too well what that look meant. He sees it every time he looks in the mirror. He started seeing it in his mother’s eyes too, when his father stopped coming home.

Kiyoomi feels sick to his stomach. He was still gripping the can of air freshener in his hand. He didn’t realize he was staring for far too long that Atsumu started staring back at him too. Kiyoomi was the first to look away.

He should have just shut the door in his face. He shouldn’t have been swayed by feelings but he couldn’t turn away, not when Kiyoomi tried so hard to find someone who would understand. Maybe Atsumu does, maybe Atsumu doesn’t. But he was persistent enough. 

“How many baths did you take today.”

Atsumu squints his eyes at Kiyoomi for a moment, probably thinking. He hummed a little as he tapped his chin with his finger. He then perked up, “Three! Is that good enough?”

Kiyoomi was running out of options. He could just say no. He could just close the door right now and push him away.

“Fine. But you’re going to help me clean.” 

Kiyoomi should really have just shut the door and left him to rot on their front porch, but he couldn’t do it. Not when Atsumu tried so hard for him.

— 

Sobbing.

Atsumu’s sobbing.

Kiyoomi’s unsure of what to do. He had never seen Atsumu this way before. He was usually all grins and smirks, and stupid, mischievous jokes — nothing could have prepared Kiyoomi for tears. He had never tried to comfort anyone else besides his mom and himself. He never does a good job, too. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to do this? Why did Atsumu choose him, out of all people?

He swallowed thickly, reaching to place a hand on his back. He hesitates for a split second before he takes a deep breath and gently rubs it up and down, making sure his hand was as light as it could get. Not that he doesn’t want to touch Atsumu, but he just didn’t want to overwhelm him. Kiyoomi doesn’t even know how to act, let alone what to say, but he can try. 

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi mumbled quietly, moving a bit closer to him. He watched him for a moment, eyeing the hair that stuck to his forehead. He had the urge to gently brush Atsumu’s hair away from his face, so he did. His fingers faintly graze his skin, like he’s scared it’ll bruise up if he puts more weight and conviction to it, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Atsumu had never seen Kiyoomi so worried and so gentle with him. This was the first time he willingly touched Atsumu without spraying him down with alcohol. His hands were light and gentle, Atsumu wanted to hold his palm against his cheek. But he doesn’t. He allows Kiyoomi’s hand to be retracted as Atsumu turned to look at him with tears in the corner of his eyes.

This was unknown territory for the both of them. They haven’t seen each other this vulnerable, so hurt and confused they barely know what to say nor do to each other. But they try, and there’s something oddly comforting in it, even if it doesn’t make sense yet, even if it doesn’t sound as kind as they intended it to be. 

They refuse to say it outright, that they’ve found comfort in the person they least expected. It just felt like no one else could understand them but each other, and it felt special and fragile in the hands of two guys who didn't quite know what they were holding. But they held it still, with utmost care and attention, knowing that even if they didn’t understand, they wanted to hold onto it. They wanted to hold on to bits and pieces, to fragments of what was left of each other.

“She doesn’t want me anymore.”

Atsumu mumbles. He said this before, on a different day, in a different tone, and in a different manner. Kiyoomi sighs. What else was there to tell Atsumu? He said everything there was to say, from _‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean that’_ to _‘why would she’_ to _‘I don’t really care’_ and honestly, he doesn’t have any phrases left to spare. Kiyoomi reaches for the bottle of sanitizer on his nightstand. He starts to pour some on his hands, just letting Atsumu watch him as he sniffs. He wipes his tears.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Kiyoomi glanced at him as he rubbed his hands together. And just like that, the serious, anxiety-inducing mood that has set over them just a few seconds ago disappeared into nothing. 

“Good for her?”

Atsumu whines. Kiyoomi tried his best not to smile as he faced Atsumu, who was pouting up at him like a lost puppy. Kiyoomi wasn’t quite sure if he found it cute or horrendous, but he kept staring at him anyway, trying to figure out what goes on in the head of someone he’d known for years but continued to surprise him in ways he didn’t really expect. The words slipped past Kiyoomi’s lips before he even realized it.

“Why do you bother?”

It was a loaded question. Kiyoomi caught the way his expression changed and he was unsure if he had just offended Atsumu. He started to feel nervous when Atsumu just sat there, unmoving. He didn’t know if he should apologize, and he didn’t know how, either, even if he should. Kiyoomi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Atsumu huffed along with the slump of his shoulders.

“Have ya ever kissed anyone, Omi?”

Kiyoomi scoffed. He knew Atsumu would be _that_ low to try and get back at him like that.

“Really? You’re asking _me_ that? You know how this goes.”

Kiyoomi even gestured to the cross that hung on his wall to emphasize his point as he shook his head in disbelief. Atsumu doesn’t look away from him, in fact, his stare simply intensified. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t follow it up with any insulting jokes like he always would. A weird atmosphere settled over the room, Kiyoomi wasn’t exactly sure what it was. 

“I’m serious.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything. He looks away from Atsumu and stares at his hands for a moment. He didn’t know what was the point of the question. So what if he hasn’t kissed anyone? Did it matter? He didn’t understand and for some reason, his palms started to sweat. He feels a tinge of annoyance along with insecurity and loneliness, all at once. It doesn’t let him relax and rationalize. 

“I don’t want anyone’s lips on mine, it’s pretty disgusting, so can we please just — “

“How do you know if you’ve never done it?”

Kiyoomi wanted to slap him. He clenches his hands into fists on his lap. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t _fucking_ understand. What was it? Why did his hands feel so cold? Why is he anxious, so worried, so scared? Why is nothing making sense to him but the fact that Atsumu _might_ know, that Atsumu could actually see right through him and now everything is crumbling apart and — 

He feels a finger on his chin and just as he was about to explode with his thoughts and feelings, with his overthinking, he meets Atsumu’s eyes. Those eyes, they looked kind. Over the years, that certain look of loneliness in his eyes started to deplete. Kiyoomi often wondered if it was because of him. Somewhere, deep inside his buried thoughts, he wished it was true. 

Because he felt the same. That look in Kiyoomi’s eyes, he doesn’t see it in the mirror anymore, too, and he knew, no matter how hard he tried to deny it to himself, that it was because of Atsumu. Having someone that understood him like no one else did make him feel a little less lonely.

And suddenly, it made sense to Kiyoomi — their knees that touched, Atsumu’s finger on his chin, the longing stare they both had in each other’s eyes. 

Kiyoomi thought he was the only one, but he was wrong.

In that moment, nothing and no one else mattered.

— 

“Are you sure you’re clean.”

Kiyoomi eyed the person that stood outside his room. His mom had let him in again with no hesitation when Kiyoomi _explicitly_ requested to call him downstairs first before letting Atsumu inside their house. It was for sanitary reasons, especially if it was going to be Kiyoomi who’ll be sweeping and mopping the floor all day.

“I swear! I had like — three baths today!” Atsumu groaned, desperate to finally get to lay down on Kiyoomi’s bed. His sheets always smelled nice and his pillows were extra soft, unlike the ones on his own bed. He considered stealing Kiyoomi’s pillow once, but he never indulged in the thought because he knew he would be banned from entering Kiyoomi’s room.

Kiyoomi eyes him for a moment, thinking to himself what could Atsumu want from him this time. He meets Atsumu’s eyes and somehow, with that single look, he understands something. He’s seen it too many times before, he knows exactly what it is. With a sigh, Kiyoomi stepped aside to let him in. 

Atsumu wasted no time in hurrying to Kiyoomi’s bed. He jumps on it, ignoring Kiyoomi’s groans of disagreement as Atsumu falls face down on his bed. 

“I’m going to have to wash those sheets. _Again_ ,” Kiyoomi pushes a hand in his hair as a hand rests on his hip. Atsumu couldn’t help but grin against his sheets before he turned to lie down on his back. He stares at the ceiling before letting his eyes roam around Kiyoomi’s room.

He’d been in that room a couple of times. It never changes. There’s a cross right above his bed, a study table by the window, and an average-sized bookshelf in the far corner of his room, right next to his wardrobe. Atsumu’s sure when he opens the drawer in his nightstand, there’s a bible with a rosary on top of it.

It’s been a few years. Atsumu’s glad some things never change. 

He glances at Kiyoomi, who was starting to untuck the sheets from the corners of his bed. Atsumu smiles to himself as he realizes Kiyoomi hasn’t changed, too. “Ya can’t change sheets while I’m laying here, Omi-kun.”

He laughs a little when he sees that glare Kiyoomi had always given him. Atsumu can confidently say that look is reserved only for him. Shifting his gaze from Kiyoomi, he turned his head to stare at the ceiling, his smile faltering the slightest. 

Kiyoomi eyes him carefully as he stands at the foot of his own bed. He takes note of how Atsumu stares blankly at the ceiling, how his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, how his arms laid lifeless there on the mattress. There’s a tired look in his eyes, one that Kiyoomi saw earlier that made him step aside to let the latter in. Atsumu comes over for various reasons.

Kiyoomi thinks he knows what’s for today.

“Again?”

It took him a while to answer, Kiyoomi wasn’t even sure if he should repeat the question or if he was heard the first time. Atsumu slightly shakes his head with a sad smile as he sits up, and Kiyoomi knows he’s gotten used to it, because God forbid, Kiyoomi himself had gotten used to all of it, too. 

“Yeah. But it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll work it out. We always do.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t prod further. That’s what he always says and he knows Atsumu loses a little bit of hope every time he does. Sooner or later, he’s going to lose the ability to believe himself. So what happens after that, right? 

Kiyoomi sits down on his bed as well, a safe distance away from Atsumu. They stayed there for God knows how long, just basking in the silence and presence of each other. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if it was his bed, or if it was the cross on his wall, or just his room in general, but he’s sure Atsumu finds comfort in there somewhere. His shoulders look a little less tensed, his breathing a little bit calmer than when he stood at the doorway. Kiyoomi knows Atsumu moved an inch or two closer to him at some point. He doesn’t move away. 

“Counseling sessions are over. You can leave now.”

Kiyoomi huffs, eyes are fixed on the wall. He feels Atsumu glance at him, as if verifying if Kiyoomi indeed, had just cracked a joke. He lets out a laugh once he’s sure. Kiyoomi’s glad he can do that. He’d loved to hear that sound, even if he tells Atsumu otherwise.

“Didn’t know ya had it in ya to have a sense of humor, Omi-kun.”

Atsumu grinned as he turned his head to look at him. Kiyoomi scoffs and rolls his eyes, his hair falling onto one side of his face. His face felt a little hot for some reason, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought. Atsumu lets out another laugh and this time, it makes Kiyoomi shake his head a little to hide the small smile that found its way on his lips.

“I saw that! Lemme see!”

“Don’t touch me!”

Kiyoomi shook his head even more as he made a weak attempt to slap Atsumu’s hand away. Of course, that wasn’t enough to stop the latter from grabbing Kiyoomi’s jaw with the tips of his thumb and index finger. His touch was kind and gentle, and Atsumu took it upon himself to make Kiyoomi look at him. As if that wasn’t enough, Atsumu gently moves his hair out of his face to get a better look of his smile.

“I —”

Kiyoomi wanted to tell him that he wasn’t smiling, but Atsumu doesn’t seem like he cared about that anymore. Kiyoomi found himself lost in the color of sparkling gold and longing, unable to look away from the mesmerizing scene that is him. He’s closer than ever. Kiyoomi doesn’t tell him to move away.

Atsumu seems to have forgotten why he came over, but Kiyoomi hasn’t. Kiyoomi knows what’s bothering Atsumu, he knows why he insisted on coming over, he knows who’s to blame for the tired look in Atsumu’s eyes and the heavy weight of chains wrapped around his heart.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

But Kiyoomi still closed his eyes. He’s glad he locked his bedroom door.

—

“You’ve been washing your sheets a lot lately.”

Kiyoomi kept his back turned to his mother as he watched his sheets go round and round in the washing machine. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before shifting his gaze back to his sheets.

“Miya keeps coming over. I just want to be sure.”

He sees his mother nod in the corner of his eye. He didn’t worry too much since his mother knew about how he felt about this stuff. This was normal, nothing out of the ordinary. His mother’s probably just glad too, that Kiyoomi made at least one friend that wasn’t his cousin. From above, where the living room and hallway were, they both heard footsteps. Kiyoomi shakes his head, “See what I mean?”

“Omiiiii!” 

Atsumu came rushing down the stairs, a smirk on his lips as he saw Kiyoomi mumbling to himself while he buried his face in his hands, quite obviously excited to see him again. He greets Kiyoomi’s mother, earning a smile from the lady before bidding the both of them goodbye, permitting them to have fun, but not too much fun. Atsumu winks at Kiyoomi at the statement. Kiyoomi wanted to shove the guy in the dryer. He’s pretty sure that’s not what his mother meant.

“Why are you here.”

“Damn, do ya always have to wash yer sheets every time I come over?”

Kiyoomi can’t help but start to question his life and why God has decided to put Miya Atsumu next door. He watched in silence as Atsumu started to inspect the washing machine like he had never seen one before. He actually might _not_ have seen one before, now that Kiyoomi’s thought about it. Atsumu doesn’t do the laundry, he thinks. Or at least, doesn’t know how to. 

“Can you stop acting like an idiot for once?”

Atsumu gasped, placing a hand on his chest as he turned to Kiyoomi, pretending to be hurt with his statement, “When have I ever acted like an idiot, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi stared at him in disbelief. He didn’t need this. Atsumu smirks when Kiyoomi doesn't say anything in reply. He didn’t want to stoop to his level, so he simply crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from his piercing gaze. He knows Atsumu noticed the faint blush on his cheeks, and the thought alone was enough to annoy Kiyoomi even more. Atsumu hadn’t won, he just liked to think he did to stroke his ego. He turns his attention back to the washing machine.

“This seems sturdy.”

That comment alone changed the whole atmosphere in the basement. Kiyoomi glances at the door, stays quiet for a moment to listen if there were footsteps from above before he glared at Atsumu and seethed, “Are you out of your mind.”

Atsumu just smirks wider in reply. Kiyoomi wanted to slap it off his face. He truly had no shame. 

“No.”

But Atsumu had his ways, or maybe Kiyoomi didn’t really mean it when he said no, that Atsumu saw right through his facade of disgust and disagreement. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure anymore. Not when he’s close. 

_So, so close._

— 

Kiyoomi knew he wasn’t going to have a good time.

But of course, his mother thought otherwise. She talked about friends, non-alcoholic drinks, and food, knowing full well Kiyoomi’s not going to want _any_ of those. The thought alone makes his skin crawl in terror and utter disgust. He doesn’t care about any of it and he just wished his mother understood that.

It was unbearable. All of it. From the moment he had arrived, he had wanted to leave. The music was too loud, the people were too close to one another — too close to him, and the place looked so crowded. He couldn’t do it and he waited for the perfect time for his mother to drive away before he came rushing out of that place.

Now, Kiyoomi stood outside the gymnasium, taking a deep breath as he stuffed his cold hands in the pocket of his slacks. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there, but he didn’t mind. He liked the solace, and no one was there to get too close to him.

He let out a sigh, watching as a faint cloud of white smoke left his lips and probably his nose, too. He’s a little glad he at least had a coat on, thinking that maybe the tuxedo wasn’t such a bad idea. He could withstand the cold air that blew through the night without having the need to go back inside that Godforsaken place to warm up.

Staying at home would have been the superior option, as always. But he had no choice with his mother around. With a sigh, he pulled out a small, compact spray bottle of alcohol from his pocket and put some on his hands. He could hear the faint sound of music from where he stood, as well as the loud chatter of students who attended the event.

Kiyoomi simply shook his head as he rubbed his hands together. He knew he’d have to stand there and wait for the whole event to be over before he could return home or else his mother was just going to drive him back. There was truly no escape.

“Seriously—you bring that thing with you everywhere?”

Kiyoomi shouldn’t be surprised he was found. Quietly rolling his eyes, he simply tucked the spray bottle back in his pocket. _Great_ , he thinks to himself. Just as he thought his night couldn’t get any worse.

“To keep germs like you away from me.”

Atsumu laughed, “Germs don’t look good as me...Omi-omi.”

What Kiyoomi hated even more was the slight pause he did before he spoke Kiyoomi’s name in the ugliest way he could. How annoying. He knows he told that bastard Atsumu to stop calling him that all his life but he never listened. Kiyoomi turned to glare at him, “Why don’t you just go back inside, Miya.”

Grinning, Atsumu approached him with a cigarette in between his fingers. Kiyoomi looked at him with the most disgusted expression he could muster. He couldn’t believe it. His night gets worse and worse with every passing second spent with Miya Atsumu.

“Are you serious?”

“It’s just a little smoke!”

Kiyoomi facepalmed as he took a step away from him for extra caution, making the other laugh once again. He’s quite certain Atsumu’s presence was a curse itself. It was a string of curses that when one is set off, the others follow. Kiyoomi often wonders what his sin was for God to decide his punishment was a guy with blonde hair with the worst attitude to ever exist.

Kiyoomi glanced at him as he tucked his hands in his pockets, his other hand fiddling with the small bottle of alcohol in it. Atsumu stood there, underneath the light that the gymnasium provided. His hair was slicked back, his head tilted back a little as his lips wrapped around the small roll of rayon and cigar. He successfully lights it up in one try. He glances back at Kiyoomi and he grins when he catches his eyes. Kiyoomi hated his existence.

“Ya know what they say, take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He wonders if he’d be forgiven for murder.

Looking away, Kiyoomi takes a deep breath. He could hear the music slowly dissipating and was replaced by someone speaking into a microphone. He feels grossed out just listening and _knowing_ that microphone had already been spoken to by hundreds of mouths. He shudders at the thought.

“You’re really gonna wait this out?” He feels Atsumu’s eyes on him as he takes a hit from his cigarette, holding his breath for a moment before he blew out the smoke into the cold air. Kiyoomi refused to meet his eyes for the second time and just looked ahead.

“I would have stayed at home if I wasn’t forced to come here.”

They stood there in silence, with Atsumu casually smoking his cigarette on school property. Kiyoomi had to admit, Atsumu looked better if his mouth wasn’t open all the damn time. He tells himself to avoid eye contact at all cost, but the feeling of his eyes on the side of his face was hard to ignore. He tried his best, but Kiyoomi ended up shooting him another glance anyway, only to find Atsumu looking back at him.

His eyes looked so bright under the moonlight they looked like they were glowing. Kiyoomi found it hard to look away. He wished he argued enough with his mother so he could at least have his facemask to hide half of his face, most especially his cheeks. He regrets it now. He opened his mouth to speak but he could say no words. What was there to say? Even insults couldn’t come to the tip of his tongue.

Atsumu smirked at him as he saw this. Kiyoomi wanted to slap that smirk off his face, but he convinced himself that touching his face was something to be repulsed by. What Kiyoomi hated even more was that Atsumu said nothing, too. Just staring, looking, almost feels like he’s mocking Kiyoomi’s inability to know what to say in those times.

From that one meter distance between them, Kiyoomi already felt they were too close, but Atsumu didn’t feel the same. He felt the need to move closer, taking slow steps one at a time, waiting for Kiyoomi to take a step back or at least tell him not to come any closer.

“Not gon’ tell me to move away?”

_Too close. He’s too close._

Kiyoomi could see how Atsumu’s lips parted with the smoke seeping out of his mouth, how his eyes darted to and from every aspect of Kiyoomi’s face. He could smell it, he could see from the corner of his eye how the white puff of smoke slowly faded into the nothingness of the cold breeze. They stood there for far too long, too close to each other, but neither of them said nothing.

There’s something about eyes and the subtle glances, in the slight curve of the corner of each other’s lips, in the intimacy of almost touching, of slightly fluttering eyes under the cheap blinking light of a lamppost. The cigarette falls to the ground and gets crushed by someone’s feet.

From inside the gymnasium, Miya Atsumu was being announced as King. It won’t be long before his queen starts to look for him.

Kiyoomi thought it was a shame.

— 

There’s a knock on the door. 

Twice.

Three times now.

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath as he dried his hands on a towel right next to the sink. Perhaps the dishes can wait because obviously, whoever was at the door couldn’t.

 _Must be the new neighbor_ , he thought. His mother hadn’t shut up about them since the moment they moved in. With the way the knocks were too loud and consistent, Kiyoomi already knew they wouldn't be getting along. How hard was it to knock twice and wait?

With quiet footsteps and a sigh past his lips, he opened the door.

He moved back a little as he saw a fist about to come down on his face. He gives the person that stood on the other side of the door a harsh glare. He stopped in his tracks and gave Kiyoomi a wide smile. He eyes him up and down, from his blonde hair down to his dirty shoes. He wasn’t at all pleased.

“Hiya, neighbor! We’re the ones who just moved in.”

Kiyoomi stared at him with the same expression that he always wore; a cold, dead look in his eyes with unmoving lips. Unimpressed. Unfazed. He had dishes to wash and this stranger was wasting his time.

“Can I help you with anything.”

His tone is not at all welcoming and would seem like he wouldn’t help this person even if he was dying on his front porch. He glanced behind the boy with the blonde hair and saw _another_ him, but this one had grey strands of hair who just stood there, just watching his brother and Kiyoomi interact with a grin on his lips.

As his mother always said, _oh dear Lord._

“Just wanted to say hi!”

Ridiculous. Annoying.

“Okay.”

The other boy, the one with the grey hair and a sly expression on his face, started to laugh like a crazed lunatic. The blonde one didn’t seem to like that. Kiyoomi didn’t like that either. He wished he had no manners and would just close the door right in their faces.

“Oi—‘Samu, shut up before I beat yer ass!” 

_Great._

_Just peachy._

_These two? As neighbors? Must be a punishment from God for having to skip bible study that one time. That’s just too harsh._

He watched as the twins did some sort of wrestling right there on the pavement. Kiyoomi thought they just utterly destroyed any chance of getting into his house. They could have chosen to do it someplace else, preferably away from Kiyoomi’s house, but no, they chose to do it right there, on their front yard.

“Kiyo, who’s at the door?”

Kiyoomi should have said it was no one.

“They said they’re the new neighbors.”

The twins stopped on impulse. It was like they had a seventh sense. Rushing back to where they stood before, Kiyoomi couldn’t help but step back at how close they were. _Too close_. They just wrestled on the concrete and any form of contact with them unsanitized will have Kiyoomi scrubbing for hours and hours. The thought was enough to send shivers down his spine.

“Hello! We’re from next door!”

He feels a pair of eyes on him, staring. Kiyoomi could tell he’s smiling from the corner of his eye.

“Oh! You’re twins! How adorable, what are your names?”

Kiyoomi should have walked away.

“Miya Osamu!”

Kiyoomi shouldn’t have met his eyes.

“Miya Atsumu!”

Kiyoomi should have closed the door when he had the chance.

— 

_“Do you regret it?”_

In a small town somewhere, there is a church full of sinners. They gather every Sunday, to proclaim, to worship, to ensure that they will be going to heaven someday. Kiyoomi stands among them with his mother, hiding under the facade of innocence.

Kiyoomi doesn’t answer. 

Giant statues of saints in silk and gold-painted clothes looked down on him, watching him with their unmoving eyes, telling him they heard him. They all heard him. He remembers the small wooden cross on his bedroom wall, how he looked down on him in the same way, every day, every night. His mother had told him that Christ was there to guide him, watch over him like the father he once knew. 

But Kiyoomi made mistakes. He lost count for how many times he had heard that very same cross fall to the floor with a soft thud, for how many times he had forgotten to put it back up, for how many times he held it in his hands, staring at it with not an ounce of guilt in his body before he hoisted it back up on his wall. 

He remembered his mother asking him about it — she asked him about a lot of stuff, really. Kiyoomi told her about the nail just being a little loose, about his neighbor and how their friendship just didn’t work out. He remembered her asking about the invitation. Kiyoomi told her it would be rude to attend. He doesn’t tell her anything else.

_“God forgives, only to those who regret it.”_

Kiyoomi stares at his clasped hands. His tears felt warm on his face as he remembered everything. It flashed in his mind like a series of polaroids — his messy blonde hair, his lazy smile, the way he throws his head back in delight — it doesn’t stop. The memories don’t stop; the insults, the ugly laughter, the hushed voices and whispers, cursing under their breaths, his tender touch, his smile, the look in his eyes, the weight of his promise, the way he held Kiyoomi while he slept, the smell of cigarettes on his pillows.

There’s so much more, so, _so_ much more, but that’s all they’ll ever be. Just flashes of images in Kiyoomi’s mind, just whispers he hears when he’s alone, just figments of imagination made to remind him that for a moment, he was happy. He was himself.

How can he ever repent for the things he did when even after everything, he still prayed every night to give back the one punishment he thought he deserved?

Kiyoomi stands up to leave. The verdict is clear. 

He remains unforgiven.


End file.
